Black Splotches on a White Sheets
by Japanese and Chocolate
Summary: Alternate to my fic 'Stabat Mater'. H/J, Hurt/Comfort. "It was, admittedly, a weakness of her own. She needed to be with him again, to find some contact, to know he was real."


**Title:** Black Splotches on a White Sheet

**Characters/Pairing:** Helen/John

**Rating:** Teen

**Summary**: Alternate to my fic 'Stabat Mater'. H/J, Hurt/Comfort. "It was, admittedly, a weakness of her own. She needed to be with him again, to find some contact, to know he was real."

Helen hadn't really had a chance to stop and take an inventory of her various injuries. She had gone from getting the crap beaten out of her by Adam, to trying to rectify the damage she herself had inflicted so that he might live and reveal the city's secrets, to a long flight and car drive to reach the city (or hellhole) that John had chosen to hide in. The air was thick with smoke, the various components of which she chose not to contemplate, that seemed to be common to all of the city, no matter her location. The little light afforded in the particularly crowded streets she had been searching cast more things into shadow than revealing the true form of her surroundings. Not that it hindered her search. After facing down his "guards" with orders to kill anyone coming after him (apparently she wasn't an exception), she finally found her quarry. He no doubt would have teleported away the moment he saw her, had he not overdosed on some of the worst drugs in creation. Despite her discomfort at seeing him so…weak, it provided her with an opportunity.

It was, admittedly, a weakness of her own. She needed to be with him again, to find some contact, to know he was real. She crawled into his arms as if they were still at Oxford, and he wouldn't mind her being there when he woke up. Now it was due to the overdose of drugs rather than any actual desire to hold her. It was stifling hot, but that had never stopped them wanting to be closer. The room was lit by only a small and ineffectual light, the fan doing nothing to keep the heat at bay, and she was anything but comfortable, but she could pretend her life was something entirely different. In her mind the room was lit by candles, the heat due to the non-existence of air-conditioning. She slept soundly in his arms.

She still didn't reflect on the beating her body had undergone. When she began to cough, she assumed it to be because of the terrible air quality. Her few moments of respite became a fleeting memory as she was whisked back to the Sanctuary, John in tow, in order to restore him to a state where he could answer her many questions. The most important being how Adam was still alive.

Adam.

The boy who was too curious for his own good, just as curious as any member of the Five, excluded by virtue of arriving in Oxford a term late. The man she had killed, despite not having fired a fatal shot. A reminder of just how warped and dark every aspect of her much happier youth had become. Of course, he was driven insane by the loss of his daughter. Something she could well relate to.

Ashley…

Had things been different and the world not relying on her continued existence, she would have quietly slipped into madness. Allowed herself to give in to her suicidal urges that Ashley had kept at bay. Really the loss of someone so integral to your life resulted in destruction. Destruction of others through vengeance. Destruction of any hope of future happiness. More than once she had found herself on the North Tower, toes far closer to the edge than she would have dared to step previously.

No, she wouldn't go there.

Despite this pleasant walk down the abandoned and worn street of memory lane. She had to focus on the present. Radiation poisoning of the rarest kind. Something she as a doctor was unable to fix without Adam's assistance. While she allowed Will to analyse Adam's actions, find meaning in the mind of a madman, she went to do her rounds of the Sanctuary, talking to those who were willing and able to do so, for once avoiding the main lab, and Sally, except when approaching the infirmary, to check on the not-fully-recovered John. A century ago she would have berated him for doing something so dangerous, but a century ago he wouldn't have done it. A decade ago she would have been relieved that he was dying, soon to be out of her life and no longer a threat to their daughter. For now, after the discovery of the energy creature, she didn't know what to think. Yes, his death would be safer for the world at large, the energy creature would die with him, but it would be so detrimental to her ability to hold on, something she couldn't deal with at the moment.

She moved to check his vitals but was forced to turn away as she was struck by a violent coughing fit. Once the worst had passed she wiped her hands on a tissue from the stand near his bed. She turned back to find him awake and alert, watching her.

"Helen…"

"I need you to tell me exactly which drugs you have taken. I cannot treat you properly if I don't know."

"Perhaps I'm not the one who needs…"

"Really it was quite careless of you to take so many. The few test results that have come back show the presence of at least five, with traces of many others."

"Helen. Why are you coughing up blood?"

"I'm not." Damn. She'd answered him. It was a reflex she would one day need to control.

"I'm not blind. What is wrong?"

Everything

She stood for a moment, deciding whether or not to answer his question or continue her own interrogation as to his condition. "Adam used a device to travel through a rift outside of regular space-time. I was exposed to its effects, one of which is a type of radiation poisoning we can neither recognise nor treat." Her answer was succinct, delivered with no trace of emotion, but he had known her for too long to fall for her bravado. This scared her. Not because she was going to die, it was certainly a possibility she had faced many times over her lifetime, but because she was unable to treat it. And so he did the one thing he could do when she was scared, when he was not the one to scare her.

He pulled her into his arms.

It was one of those strange moments when she knew it was going to happen, and absolutely sure it was not. This was, after all, the man who had terrorised her, essentially sending her running from her homeland. This was also the man that had held her through the darkest nights of her earlier days. In their time together, for him to simply pull her to him and not let go was not uncommon.

She decided to stop thinking before realising it was impossible. She would not break down in his arms, not yet, but she could not silence her thoughts. So she turned them to examining her surroundings. It was second nature for her to give every room she entered a cursory glance. Checking for exits, attackers or weapons. But usually her examination extended beyond this very little. Now she saw the beds lined up perfectly, equidistant, parallel and looking far less comfortable than they felt with John's arms wrapped around her. The infirmary lacked the sterilised smell of many hospitals, instead smelling of clean sheets and old walls. The only sounds were the distant echoes of abnormals in their habitats and their breathing, now in sync.

She catalogued her various aches and pains. Her thigh hurt from her landing after travelling through the rift, the side of her face was still tender. She had a slight tremor that was barely detectable, except when she lay still. There was an extreme headache, breathing was becoming increasingly difficult and she oscillated between feeling ravenous and nauseous. She was faced with a murder she committed long ago, a man she wanted dead and needed to remain alive, an overly sarcastic ex-vampire and a distinct shortage of tea. She was forced confront Adam who was going through the same pain as her, and the consequences of losing a daughter that she had, until now, denied. Consequences she would one day face, and had known she would face from the day Ashley was born.

The intensity of the light, reflected off white sheets, was blinding. She moved her head further down, nestling between the mattress and John's arm. With no detailed examination to distract her mind, all she could do was think about the very things she least wanted to think about. She had lost Ashley. Now was one of the few moments she truly allowed herself to feel the loss of her daughter. To recognise that Ashley was not simply out of her life, but _dead_.

She didn't know when she started to cry. Tears slowly flowing down her cheeks and no doubt staining the sheets with mascara. The once blank slate marred by ugly black splotches. She didn't know when John started to soothe her, moving his hand slowly up and down her forearm. Barely touching, but providing human contact she had craved for so long. She didn't know when she felt hot tears on the back of her neck, him weeping not only for their daughter, but for her.

She didn't know when she slept, taking all the events of the past few days and unconsciously storing them in the 'Do Not Read' section of her mind. Emotional control by negating harmful thoughts.

When she woke up he was still holding her. Because he wanted her close. His body providing warmth and shielding her from the harsh light. She could rely on him, had relied on him, and he was there for her.

For all eternity.


End file.
